


...and the walls came tumbling down

by Saral_Hylor



Series: the mortar will hold. it's the bricks that are crumbling [4]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Flashbacks, Hurt Steve Rogers, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers is not fine, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 05:36:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2801489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saral_Hylor/pseuds/Saral_Hylor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d lost everything once. He didn’t want to lose Tony as well. Not when he could do something about it, if he would just grit his teeth and get over it, stop the memories from pushing through the walls. He couldn’t forget what happened, so he just had to ignore it and then he would be fine.</p>
<p>He was fine. </p>
<p>He was. </p>
<p>Fine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	...and the walls came tumbling down

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to the wonderful [quandong_crumble](http://archiveofourown.org/users/quandong_crumble/pseuds/quandong_crumble) for the beta work. Please, everyone, appreciate her efforts. When I handed this story over to her it was a complete mess. I never saw it, but apparently somewhere between me coping the text into a Word doc and emailing it from my phone and when she opened it up, it had lost all of the spacing in the story. She didn't even send it back and ask me to try again, she just fixed it for me. And that's not to mention the entire mess of my spelling, grammar and word choice in this story. Hey kids, remember, spell check isn't a complete proof read, but it sure as hell helps! 
> 
> OK, that said, and before we go on, I wanna say that the flashbacks aren't anything graphic, but they could be a bit triggery. And it's possible that some of the "present day" content might also be a bit triggery as well. Possibly especially Steve's attitude and thought processed. Proceed with caution. Please.

It felt like a never-ending pressure, a continuous impetus to push everything away from him. To push the memories back behind their wall, stubbornly ignoring their existence until it was nearly impossible. To push everyone away when they got too close or were a little too perceptive. Which was difficult when he lived in the same tower as two trained spies, two men of science and a god who personally knew a fella whose job it was to see everything. 

He thought it would get better, that the serum, the war, seventy years in the ice, the alien invasion; that some part of that would have made the memories go away. That everything else since that night should have pushed those memories out of his mind because surely he couldn’t be expected to remember everything. 

But he did, and even more so after the serum. Everything he saw or heard, said or did was lodged into his memory and it would never go away. 

The look on Tony’s face almost a month prior, when morning had come and he’d still been in Tony’s bed. That smile, the way his eyes looked soft and full of something that could only be hope and pride. He loved Tony. He might not have said it in the right words, but he felt it burning in his chest, felt it in the way his stomach swooped every time Tony smiled at him. Felt it in the _pull, need, want_ that was there every time he was around Tony, that drove him to seek him out, that made him want to spend every night in his bed and just be as close as he could let himself get. 

But the memories always pushed back, battered relentlessly against the walls and would never shut up. His body flinched and pulled away from Tony even when his heart was shouting at him to stand strong and his mind was trying to hold up its defences. So he pushed Tony away. With every flinch, every reflexive movement away, every panicked intake of breath, he knew he was pushing Tony farther and farther away. Tony was good at pretending it didn’t bother him, that he understood and would be patient, and he was so painfully patient, but he’d seen the hurt in Tony’s eyes, heard the way his voice cracked with emotion when he just kept pushing him away. 

Tony might have been patient, but he was only human, a human with a history of having people use him and leave him, and how much longer could Steve keep pushing him away before Tony stopped coming back. Before Steve wasn’t welcome to spend a few hours in his bed at night before the closeness and the darkness got too much for the memories to stay away. Before Tony stopped looking at him like he was the only thing that mattered in the world, when he managed to do little things like hold his hand, or sit next to him on the couch, close but not touching, during movie nights. Before he pushed too much and lost the one thing that made him feel more like a whole person than he had since Bucky fell, since he woke up from the ice, since his mum had died. 

How long would it be before Tony realised that he was so broken that the serum hadn’t been able to fix him? Before Tony realised that even he couldn’t fix Steve. 

He’d lost everything once. He didn’t want to lose Tony as well. Not when he could do something about it, if he would just grit his teeth and get over it, stop the memories from pushing through the walls. He couldn’t forget what happened, so he just had to ignore it and then he would be fine. 

He was fine. 

He was. 

Fine. 

He kept repeating that to himself. Because he was fine. It didn’t matter what all the new age doctors said, or that people seemed to think he had to talk about it to make things better. It had all been okay before Tony knew. No one else knew, though he thought perhaps Natasha had her suspicions, but there was no way she could be certain. It wasn’t on his file. What was on his file was “prone to outbursts of violence”. He didn’t explain it to them, why he’d reacted the way he had when those men had come after him, why he’d put them in hospital. Even when he’d sat through an hour of steadfastly ignoring the SHIELD appointed shrink’s attempts to get him to talk about what happened, he didn’t explain it then. He hadn’t explained it to Tony. He hadn’t needed to. 

Tony, brilliant, patient Tony who the world seemed to underestimate and misjudge every time, he’d taken one look at Steve that day and known exactly why he’d acted the way he did. He’d never told Tony all the details of what had happened, but he didn’t think he needed to. He didn’t want to. Tony didn’t have to hear that. He didn’t deserve that. 

He deserved so much more than what Steve had on offer. He deserved Captain America, strong and steadfast and always right. Instead he got Steve Rogers, broken and damaged and potentially dangerous. 

Ever since that day – when he’d put those men in hospital and almost pushed Tony away for good, almost dislocated Tony’s shoulder in an attempt not to lose him – all he could think about was what if he hurt someone else? What if he hurt someone he cared about? What if Tony accidentally got too close one day and Steve lost it? The thought of hurting Tony, of it being his bones that he felt break beneath his hands, of Tony’s eyes staring at him in pain and panic and him still not being able to stop, it made him sick. It drove him out of Tony’s bed, because some nights he was too afraid to sleep, so certain that he’d wake up from the memories assaulting his dreams and discover Tony’s blood on his hands. 

He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if that happened, so he had to make sure that he wouldn’t do that. He had to push the memories so far back behind that wall that they wouldn’t resurface again, so that he could be normal. 

So he could forget that he was broken. 

All he had to do was grit his teeth and push himself a little farther, make sure that he was in control of his body so he wouldn’t hurt Tony and just take that next step. The next step after holding hands and sharing the occasional kiss. 

He’d planned it through, geared himself up for it and kept telling himself that he was fine, that it was all going to be fine, and the way Tony had smiled at him over dinner made him hope for a second that they really were fine. That, at least, they could be, if he just got through the rest of the evening. 

They were in the elevator together, heading back towards Tony’s floor, and he made himself stand closer than normal, arm pressed up against Tony’s. He could feel Tony looking at him, no doubt trying to figure out what he was doing or if he should move away, but thankfully he stood still and let their arms press together. He didn’t know what he would have done if Tony had pulled away. His heart beat a little too fast, unsteady in his chest, a memory of how it had beat before the serum. 

Tony was smiling at him, a little unsurely, looking like he was on the verge of starting to babble, and it wasn’t that Steve didn’t like listening to Tony ramble on and on about various things, chopping and changing subjects as he saw fit, but he didn’t want that at that moment. He had it all worked out, planned, and if Tony distracted him, then he knew he’d back out. 

He couldn’t back out. He couldn’t lose Tony as well. 

He leant over and kissed Tony, just catching the corner of his mouth, goatee scratching against his lips, but when he pulled away, Tony was smiling at him. It was achingly beautiful and the way that Tony should always smile, genuine. His lips twitched in response, but he kissed Tony again so he wouldn’t have to try and smile. It wasn’t that he wasn’t happy. He was. He was fine and Tony made him happy but somewhere inside his head it kept getting messed up and it ended up being so much easier to frown at the world than it was to smile. 

Smiling felt too much like showing real emotions. If he started smiling, what was stopping everything else from slipping to the surface too? 

He just had to ignore the unpleasant churn in his stomach at the feeling of Tony’s breath, warm against his face. 

The elevator stopped, doors sliding open and Tony drew back, looking between the door and Steve, uncertain but hopeful. “Did you want to stay the night?” 

That was exactly what he wanted, he reminded himself, swallowing down against the churning in his stomach and making his head nod. He wanted so much more than just staying the night. He wanted to take things further. He wanted Tony to keep smiling at him, wanted to feel closer to whole and normal than he had in years and to show Tony that he was fine. That they were fine. 

They were in the bedroom more suddenly than he thought they would be, it made his head spin, adrenaline rising, but he knew that he had lead the way into the room. Tony stood just inside the doorway, watching him carefully. 

“Steve?” 

He pulled his shirt off over his head, then started on his belt because he couldn’t let the hesitation in Tony’s voice distract him. They hadn’t done this without clothes before, he couldn’t look at Tony, but he was a genius, surely he’d work out what was going on. 

“Steve, sweetheart, please look at me?” 

His pants hit the floor but he froze with his fingers hooked beneath the elastic of his underwear. Maybe they could stay on a bit longer. He could do this, though he was fighting the compulsion to fold his discarded clothes neatly just so he didn’t have to look over at Tony. He had to though, had to see if a Tony understood what it was that he wanted, what he needed. 

Tony hadn’t moved from the doorway, except one hand was gripping the doorframe like he needed it to stay standing upright. Eyes too wide and face painted with concern. It wasn’t how Tony was supposed to be looking at him. It wasn’t how he wanted Tony to look at him. He wasn’t something that was about to break if someone looked at him the wrong way, but he just wanted Tony to look at him like he actually wanted him. 

He could do it if Tony wanted him. He had to do it. So he wouldn’t lose Tony. He had to be better for Tony. Just had to grit his teeth and soldier on because that was what he did. It was what he always did. He wanted the memories to go away because they were too close to the surface, pushing back against the walls and stopping him from moving forward. 

“Ste—”

“I want to try more.” They weren’t the exact words he’d wanted to say, but they shut Tony up for a second and made something other than concern cross his face. Not that confusion was much better. 

“More?” Tony wet his bottom lip, stepping a little further into the room, eyes flickering between Steve and the bed and then anywhere else in the room, like he wasn’t sure what was safe to look at. “What do you have in mind?” 

“Sex.” 

The word rattled around the room, ricocheting off the walls and he saw Tony’s body jerk at the sound of it. 

“I don’t— are you even— Steve? No.” Tony stepped back again, tendons and muscles bugling in his forearm as his grip tightened on the doorframe. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

He felt the hot flush of embarrassment spread over his face and across his chest, knowing he looked ridiculous standing there in his underwear. His jaw hurt, teeth aching in his gums from how hard he’d bitten them together. Swallowing shame that felt like lead, he bent down to pull his pants back up. Of course Tony wouldn’t want him, not after what those men had— not after that night. How could anyone want him? 

“Steve, sweetheart, no, don’t, that’s not what I meant.” Tony’s face look like it had frozen half way to horrified and he couldn’t help but wondering if he’d spoken out loud or if he was that transparent that Tony could see his thoughts anyway. 

A tentative smile curled Tony’s lips, like he wasn’t sure if he should, but was trying to be reassuring. “You’re gorgeous, Steve, and I adore you, please believe that. It’s not that I don’t want you. I do. I want you around all the time, it’s all the clichés but I want you to be the last thing I see when I go to sleep and the first thing I see when I wake up. But, I don’t want any of that, or anything else, if you don’t want it.” 

His fingers fumbled on the fly of his pants, belt buckle jingling as he kept knocking it blindly out of the way. There was a different type of heat on his skin, something caused by the way Tony was looking at him, and the _pull, need, want_ feeling was back, because he did want Tony. He wanted them to work, wanted Tony to stay with him and keep being so devastatingly patient, but it wasn’t fair to ask that of him. “I want this. Please, Tony, I’m not lying.” 

Except the memories surged forward again, cold air that wasn’t there made him shiver, the sound of that woman’s call for help echoed in his ears. He wasn’t lying though, he was fine, he would be fine, they’d do this and everything would be fine afterwards and he’d just get over it and get on with his life. 

Tony let go of the doorframe, stepping carefully into the room, like he was afraid that Steve would spook like a startled horse. “Not saying you were, Steve, but maybe a bit slower, yeah? We don’t need to do everything right now.” 

Slower. He could handle slower. The desperate jack-hammering of his heart against his ribs made it harder to breathe. It was a conscious effort to drag in a deep breath, feeling it shake in his lungs and let it out again. Slower would work. “I still want to try more.” 

He knew he sounded indignant, petulant, stubborn, but he had to make Tony understand that he needed to do this. Needed to do it so that he could get over it and move on, keep forging forward. 

Tony stepped a little closer again, small, steady steps, edging ever closer. “There’s lots we can do. But you’ve got to promise that you’ll stop me if anything gets too much.” 

He nodded, heart still beating a little too fast and a little too unsteady. He felt like he was hanging on a precipice, caught between wanting to drag himself back up to safer ground, to where they knew what the boundaries were and he kept the memories locked tightly behind the walls, or wanting to let go. To let go and fall, give into the _pull, need, want_ that Tony sparked in him, the way it made his heart beat half with adrenaline and half with desire. 

“Anything.” Tony repeated, still looking unsure, but he stepped closer again, hand reaching out slowly to touch the side of Steve’s face. 

He pushed into the touch, leant his cheek into the palm of Tony’s hand and made his breathing even out. He could do this, he could let himself do this. He wanted to do it, wanted Tony to touch him and kiss him and pull him down from the precarious edge he was balancing on, until he had no choice but to move forward, to move on with his life. 

Then Tony would see that he’d moved on, that they could move on together, once he’d proven to Tony that he wasn’t going to break. 

Then he could go back to ignoring the past. 

And they’d be fine. 

The mattress felt too soft beneath him, dipping and moving to fit around his body, not like the memory of the hard, cold ground that chipped through a weak spot in the wall. He could feel the weight of Tony’s body making the mattress dip on the other side of the bed, but he wasn’t moving into his space. The way they lay on their sides, facing each other, it seemed far too hesitant, but moving closer to Tony took more willpower than he thought it would. 

Leaning in to kiss Tony made his heart jam in his throat, making it hard to breathe. _I’m fine,_ he reminded himself, pushing himself just a little bit more to make his hand reach out and touch the centre of Tony’s chest, where the arc reactor used to sit. If Tony could let him touch him there, then he could let Tony touch him. He had to let Tony touch him. 

It might have been permission, the brush of his fingertips against Tony’s shirt, because he felt the bed shift again, the change in the air when Tony reached slowly towards him. He sucked in a quick breath against Tony’s lips, but pressed back against him when he felt Tony start to draw away again. 

_I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine I’m finefinefinefine._

He could feel Tony’s hands on him, calloused finger tips only just touching him, only just brushing the skin on his chest and part of him wanted to snap at Tony to touch him properly because he wasn’t going to break. But the words got stuck, at the back of his throat, behind the layered chant of just how fine he was. Underneath the memories he was trying to push back behind the wall. 

_Rough hands holding him down, whiskey soaked breath heavy against the side of his face. He couldn’t breathe, the weight pressing down on his ribs was too much, the ground hard and cold beneath him. He hiccupped, trying to drag in a breath, tried to fight back against the hand on the back of his neck and the elbow digging in between his shoulder blades. He kicked out, wild and frantic, trying to evade the hands grabbing at him and the voices that were taunting him from somewhere behind him, above him._

_The pavement was digging into his hips, scratching at the bare skin, rubbing it raw with every attempt he made to stop them. Stop them from dragging his pants off any further. He couldn’t let them do that._

_Why hadn’t they just hit him. They were supposed to just hit him, get distracted long enough for the dame to get away. Just hit him, it wasn’t supposed to go like this._

“Steve?” 

“Steve, Jesus, Steve, baby, breathe, please just breathe.” 

Tony’s voice chipped through the memories, something to latch onto, cling to, and drag himself back with. He couldn’t feel his fingers on him anymore, couldn’t feel where Tony was. He forced his eyes open, forced his lungs to expand, dragging air into his body and feeling it rush to his head. 

Tony was standing off to the side of the bed, hands clutched in his hair, face looking absolutely distraught, and behind him loomed one of the suits. The whole scene looked wrong. Tony was supposed to be on the bed beside him. That’s where he’d been before. And the armour wasn’t supposed to be there at all. 

“Steve?” Tony’s hands slipped out of his hair, dropped to his sides and his shoulders slumped and he let out a breath that rattled around the room. 

“I’m fine.” The words were out, on automatic, and only once they’d gone did he realise that he probably didn’t look fine at all. His hands had clenched so tight around the sheets that his fingers had gone right through them. He blinked, trying to push the last of the memories away, but he could still feel the weight pushing down on his chest. Still smell the whiskey soaked breath, the memory of it caught in his mind and refusing to go away. “I’m okay. I can do this.” 

Tony made a choked sound, something broken and hurt, staring down at his hands like they’d betrayed him in some way. “I can’t.” 

The words felt like a physical blow, like shattered ribs and a bruised heart. And guilt. So much guilt. He had tried, tried to be better, to be something that was worthy of Tony Stark and yet the pain in his voice, he’d caused that. He’d hurt Tony without even trying, without inflicting any physical damage, he’d still hurt him. 

“I’m sorry.” The words tasted like ash and dirt, too inferior to actually mend anything, not nearly enough to take away the fact that Tony had been distressed enough that he armour was in the room. It was easy to force the memories back behind the wall, squash them back and ignore them when he felt like he had to look after Tony. He made his fingers let go of the ruined sheets, made his body comply and sit up, sit on the edge of the bed. He didn’t feel as vulnerable sitting up, but it didn’t stop the sick, churning realisation that he’d ruined more than just Tony’s sheets. 

Tony’s head snapped up, his hands clenching to fists. “Don’t you dare. No, you don’t get to say that, Steve Rogers. You don’t get to apologise because you did nothing wrong.” 

But he had. He’d pushed Tony, he’d pushed himself, and he wasn’t strong enough to push the memories back at the same time. He wasn’t strong enough to keep them locked back behind that wall. The serum might have made him strong enough to hospitalise three men without trying. It might have made him strong enough to be a danger to Tony, but it hadn’t made him strong enough to be better. 

He hadn’t been strong enough to face the truth. But it was time to. 

He was _not_ fine. 

Denial wasn’t helping anything. 


End file.
